


You're An Obfonteri

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 99th Ravager Discord, And the rules don't matter, Billy prefers to be called him, Cause they can't find him on earth, Coming at it again with those map room prompts, Gen, I don't know Russian, Kraglin gets adopted, Kraglin is going after Peter, Tags May Change, Yondu can't go because he's not an Earthling, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: The thing about Terran is that it's so out of the way and so primitive, y'all can't even find one of Ego's kids on it without going and lookin' for yourself.Here we have Kraglin dressed up like a regular Earth-Guy, trying to find Peter for Yondu. Except he snubs his captain and is marooned for three days. A grandmother takes him in and feeds him soup and that, right there, is history.





	1. I Got This, Sir

“You ain’t got shit, but I don’t got any other choice.”

Yondu snubbed his thumb under his nose, looking Kraglin up and down with a fierce, judgmental eye. Scanning for anything that would get him caught by those Terran police and taken in somewhere where they’d have to fetch him, and wouldn’t that be a mess? Probably try to cut ‘im up and see what makes ‘im tick, the barbarians. Ain’t got scanners like they do, even the Junker scavenged ones up on the Eclector. Which was hovering outside Terran’s scanning capabilities, listing along near a jump port at the edge of their rinky solar system. Yondu even managed to land an M-ship on the soil without touching any radar tracking and cloak it in the woods easy. Surprised there was a kid from Ego out here, honestly, but if they wanted to hide one of his offspring from peeping eyes, no better place. Didn’t even have a solid read for the pick-up. They actually had to do _reconnaissance;_ pain in the ass piece o’ mundy shit in a….

“Alright. Now, you look just like them folks, so no need to worry about hiding nothing. Maybe yer damn tattoos.” He flicked  a hand across the little mark on Kraglin’s neck, one of three that the kid got when he first joined up with the Ravagers. The Xandarian slapped at Yondu’s hand out of habit and Yondu cuffed him, drawing him close. “This is important. You find the brat and you bring him to the rendezvous. Alive.” Their foreheads were practically touching and Kraglin stiffened at the close contact. “Both o’ ya,” Yondu added for good measure.

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“You practice all yer words from the recording I got you?”

“I did.”

“And you left all yer Grub rations here?”

“I did, sir.”

“And you know y’can’t just go up and grab ‘im from his home, right?”

“Sir,” Kraglin said, almost a whine, but not quite. “Trust me. I can do this.”

“This is _important_ ,” said Yondu more fiercely than ever, a bite in his silver-capped-toothed mouth. But he let go of Kraglin’s neck and took a step back. “Don’t fuck this up, Kraggles.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And keep yer comm on so I can get ya.”

“I will, sir.”

-

_Ya can’t talk to ‘em, Kraggles. Terrans shoot anybody who don’t talk and walk like they do and they don’t take kindly to strangers._

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna,” Kraglin muttered quietly, tucking his chin into the lapel of a brown leather jacket. It didn’t have the same stiff feel as his usual Ravager uniform. Barely covered a proper blade and didn’t keep out the cold near as he liked. Course these Terran idiots didn’t go to space if their clothes were all made like this. Patchy hide, ripped pants with a short zipper, floppy boots and a shirt with the arms ripped off? And who’d these Ramones think they were, standing round in their equally dingy outfits? They looked just as bad as the other orphans back on Xandar. Was he wearing a wanted poster on his shirt or something? And no bounty printed right along with their faces?  The clothes didn’t make a lick of sense.

Kraglin brushed back his long greasy hair, scrubbing his scalp out of a nervous habit. He’d had the sides shaved down recently after he’d taken a plasma round to his skull. Doc had saved him from the burn, but he still had a few scars near his eye, fresh white marks, and the hair near his temple hadn’t grown back in yet. Course Snut had been the one to shave the sides and he said it looked plenty fine, but Snut was a Luphomoid who kept a shaved head just on principle. He’d just about shaved his whole head when Kraglin ducked away and threatened him with violence if he took the long tuft down the middle of his skull.

“You look like any of them I saw on the recording,” Snut said, popping up a picture of a twiggy-lookin’ Terran with a long feathery Mohawk.

“Yeah,” he had said, feeling a dizzy from the seds dose Doc had given him for the burn. But then Yondu had come in to check on their little recon team and slapped Kraglin’s head.

“Looks good!” he had said. Kraglin had beamed like Yondu had given him a promotion or something, and he touched the tuff of hair atop his head. “Almost like a real talhei.” Yondu sucked his teeth after he said that and left without another word, but Kraglin already heard the compliment. He did. He had that humming in his chest just fine, keeping him warm from thought alone.

Still. Now. On Terran? He felt flarkin’ ridiculous.

 _Yer gettin awful close to civilians there,_ Yondu barked across the comm, bringing Kraglin back.

“Yeah?” he asked, stepping into the shadow of a quaint little shop as people walked by. He looked down at the scanner he’d strapped to his forearm, keeping the display 2D, even though he could really go for a proper map of the place right about then. “I got readings saying he’s ‘round here. I’m lookin’ fer them broods you was talking about. Where they all get together for schoolin'."

 _Yeah. School_. Yondu sighed against his comm and Kraglin sniffed a little. _Maybe we did this too early. Maybe we shoulda—_

“Sir, I swear,” Kraglin started, diving back into Xandarian by way of habit as he leaned his head down again. He looked like he was hunched over and cursing at his watch. “You said I could do this so I’m—”

“Hey!”

Kraglin scrambled back towards the door, running his hand up his sleeve as he assessed the threat in front of him. He was ready to pull the knife on whoever, jab it into their throat before they could call for back up. He even leaned forward some, but he caught himself, almost tripping on the loose flimsy ties of his pathetic Terran-made boots.

It was a kid. Like. A _child_.

“’Ey,” Kraglin said shakily, clearing his throat as he forced out the Terran speech. “Uh. Whudya...uh…?”

“So you like a spy for the Russians or, like, what’s goin’ on there?” the kid asked, jutting out his chin before he went back to licking some bright red confectionary.

“A, uh. A what?” Kraglin managed.

He could understand everything the kid was saying easy as anything; his translator chip had been upgraded to include most Terran speech. Yondu wondered if they had anything available that would upgrade his voice box too, but Kraglin insisted they steer clear of any throat modifications, thank you kindly.

“You calling back to the Kremlin?” the kid asked and pursed his lips, looking up at the sky. Kraglin slowly stepped out of the shadow of the building to look too. Better to keep his wits about him and check out any threat. “You just like one of those Froggy-lovin’ punk kids or something?”

“What?” Kraglin asked again, squinting back at the kid.

“Are you slow?”

“Uh…?”

_Kraglin! Get out of there! Stop—_

Kraglin flinched at the order barked into his ear. He swatted at the piece and scraped it out, holding it tight in his palm so nobody could hear Yondu giving him orders. The kid watched him, sucking on his candy again. He was a sandy-colored wisp, blond hair bright as any headlight, big wide eyes and dirt smudged up under his chin.

“You alright?” the kid finally asked, smacking his lips together.

“Yeah,” Kraglin croaked out, and cleared his throat. “I-I just…I am—”

“Yeah, my nana’s Russian,” said the kid, fiddling with something on his tongue, spitting uselessly before he finally tugged what might have been a hair out of his mouth and inspected it in the sunlight. Kraglin leaned forward and looked too, squinting at the kid’s fingers. The kid flicked his little whatever away and looked back up, eyebrow raised. “She says I gotta stop calling everybody spies. Maybe she’s a spy, y’know? I bet. She’s tough. Like real tough. You ain’t ever seen anybody tough as my nana.”

“Yeah?” Kraglin asked earnestly.

“Yeah,” the kid shot back. He stuck the candy back in his mouth, twirling it on that little junky plastic stick. “So, where you stayin’, Commie Scum?”

“Oh. No. I…uh….” Kraglin made a vague gesture out towards the edge of town, the line of trees that stood guard just on the other side of a Dairy Queen. The kid followed his gaze and then turned back, unimpressed.

“Uh-huh. Well, you’re standing in front of my nana’s now.”

They looked back again at the small building that Kraglin had been crouched in front of. Dark green siding with clean white shutters and a small front porch. There was an “open” neon sign flashing in the window, sheltered with lacy white curtains.

“You can come in,” said the kid, already heading towards the door. “She won’t mind. Probably misses speaking ‘The Mother Tongue,’ y’know. Or whatever, man. I don’t know. My ma never spoke it and, like, dad is all against those Commie Bastards, so, he’s not a big…you know what?” The kid held up their hands, blocking any further comments. “Nope. Just, if you wanna come in. That’s up to you. Whatever.”

The kid stomped up to the entrance, pulling open a creaky screen door. He held it open a moment, waiting, watching Kraglin. When Kraglin didn’t make a move towards the entryway, the kid just sighed and went inside. The screen door banged shut behind him.

Kraglin relaxed as soon as the kid was gone, letting out a captive rush of air. He pushed the comm bug back into his ear.

“Sir?” he whispered cautiously, crouched down again as he snaked around the edge of the building. “Sir? Sorry about that earlier. I was just talking to someone and getting…er…getting the lay of the land, sir. I dunno. You know anything ‘bout Commies?”

There was a startling static on the other end and Kraglin jumped again. He tapped at the ear piece, turning it in his ear to see if he had just installed it wrong. But it were nothing but an earbud; nothing to mess up. Kraglin shoved up his sleeve and looked down at his wrist, scrolling for any alert messages.

“Sir?” he asked again, a little more urgently. He went further down the alley as something cracked overhead, a low bang and then the distant grumble and churn of thunder. He turned up the collar of his jacket as he watched dark thunderclouds roll in. "Oh, c’cmon.”

The display on his wrist flashed and Kraglin dared to pull up a holoprojection message from the Eclector: _Storm coming in. Playing hell with our readouts. Had to return to the Eclector. Return in 3 solar cycles._

“3? C’mon,” Kraglin moaned again as he slapped the screen back down onto his wrist.

He turned his head up just as the rain broke free, falling in buckets. He closed his eyes, getting slapped in the face with rain before he had sense to duck back under the low awning behind the café. Terran leathers didn’t seem like they’d withstand the weather, not like his Ravager gear. Stars above how he wanted to be strapped up in that familiar jumpsuit again. Have a blaster at his side. Yondu’s M-ship waiting in the forest for him to return to. He grumbled as he put himself next to a big trash receptacle and snubbed his thumb under his nose. He was shivering like mad, so he pulled his knees in tight and huddled for warmth, like he’d done plenty of times on the streets of Xandar. He could weather the weather. He’d done it before. He could do this. He could _do_ this.

-

He…could…do this.

-

He….

-

Kraglin snorted awake when someone touched him. Confused. Cold. But alive. He slammed back against the wall, reaching for his knife and yanking it out in a clean, violent gesture. No more water dripping on his head, thank you. That helped. His jaw was tight from rattlin’ his teeth together in his sleep, so he didn’t so much as yelp. But the other woman did.

“Hey now. You put out someone’s eye with that.”

Kraglin didn’t lower his hand, even as it trembled from the cold. He blinked away the wet and looked up into a stony, calculating face cast in shadows from an umbrella. That would explain why he wasn’t getting rained on no more. Kraglin looked up at the black canvas sheltering them and licked his lips.

“Fine. You keep your blade. You pay rent on my dumpster out here?”

Kraglin wiped his free hand across his mouth. He was trying harder to keep his muscles from shaking so bad. Just had to focus, keep calm, keep so calm, calm, calm center. There was a terrible headache curling up from the base of his skull and he wanted to shut his eyes and sleep forever. But that were nothing but death snaking up his spine again. He’d shaken that hand off before.

“I toss you in amongst tomorrow’s rubbish. Makes no difference to me, I think. But my hip is not so good and I would like to not having to lift you, even as small and weak as you are. You come. You come, follow me.”

The woman waved her hand. Her fingers were short and stocky with thick, arthritis-turned knuckles. She had a small tremor too, now that he was looking, her head shivering a little on a thin, papery-skin neck. But she held onto her umbrella firmly, and she turned around, back straight. She sorta reminded Kraglin of the captain with her stubbornness and her square shoulders.

“Come,” she said again, flapping her hand. “I will not say again. My hip.” And she patted her thigh as she said it, making a little meaty slap against a cream-colored printed dress.

Well. Well, if anything, he could get his knife in the base of her skull and run, if he had to. If he had to….

Kraglin slowly got up from his little wet den next to the trash. He clothes were sucked tight to his body and his boots squelched unpleasantly ‘round his feet. He was dripping head to foot like a damn mess. So much for staying out of the rain. He swiped back his hair out of his face, leaving it plastered flat to his scalp. He shivered again and held his arms tight around his chest, hugging some warmth into his limbs. One step. Seven hells his feet were cold. Another step. C’mon, he’d survived growing up on Xandar, he could survive this. Another. A—

Kraglin’s stiff knees buckled and he stumbled forward with an undignified yelp. The woman was there, holding out her arm for him. He was afraid he’d break one of her bones if he grabbed her, but he was already falling and so he done grabbed her just as she asked. Or offered. Or whatever, he didn’t need no help from no elderly…. Yeah, Kraglin took her arm easy. Fine.

“Come. You are like little icicle now. I have fire in my kitchen.” She jutted out her chin and let him hold her arm as she guided him inside.

“H-How…how you…?” Kraglin clenched his teeth together and shivered more than ever.

“My Billy tells me I have little pest sitting in my garbage. My Billy is good. Tells me when I have someone to go fetch. Always looking for pets to bring home and I say, ‘Not today, Billy,’ or, ‘Not that one, Billy.’ But always coming to my door.”

The old woman patted Kraglin’s hand on her arm. Her skin was nearly as cold as his, but at least she was dry. _Was_ dry. Flarkin’ perfect. He was dripping all over her, but she didn’t seem to mind and he wanted or he needed or he was in desperate enough shape that he had to lean on her. He had to. He still had the knife clenched tightly in one hand. If he had to….

“B-B-Billy?” Kraglin managed to squeak out.

“Billy,” the woman repeated.

The kitchen at the back of the little café was warm. Hot. There was a big stove roaring with four different pots, huge iron things with lids bubbling over the top of them and ladles draped on hooks nearby. Not as big as the ones in the mess hall, the ones Oblo could sometimes crawl inside and clean out or sleep in if he was feeling particularly tired. Ya can’t say no Ravagers hadn’t threatened to cook him alive, but truth was nobody else knew how to work the Eclector’s ovens and they were all afraid of what they’d find in that kitchen, so. Oblo were probably safest anyhow in the kitchen. There were clean metal tables like medical gurneys but with knives and cutting boards instead of the Doc’s many med kits. There was another grill, flat and standing cold in the corner. A warm, earthy smell permeated the place and Kraglin sighed despite himself.

“Stand there,” said the woman, leaving him near a sink. “I go find you clothes. You stay in those, you freeze. You.” The woman shuffled towards another door, waving at her head. “Что это за слово? Так или иначе, вы замерзнете до смерти. Уилламина всегда приносит мне самых грустных домашних животных _._ ”   

The woman went through a swinging door, leaving Kraglin to stand alone in the kitchen, vibrating with a cold frequency he hadn’t felt in a long time. He understood what she had said, but there was a new flavor to it, a new tone. Low and conspiratorial, like a secret. She must have switched dialects, something she spoke much more fluently, with vigor and grace. 

There was a low troubling roil from the pots and Kraglin made his way over towards the stove. To be fair, the heat was what drew him in. He rubbed his hands together, holding them out closer to the burner as he sniffed experimentally at the dish. Didn’t smell like nothing they’d had on the Eclector, not that any of it were fine dining. Grubs, mealy rations, and blue protein chup cubes were the usual. Dried skutz lizard on more occasions than he could count, but that were hard on yer teeth and Kraglin had a new capped tooth sittin’ pretty on the front that was still smart. Kraglin had made a mug of something that might be considered stew a few times, though stew weren’t a word he rightly knew. He sniffed, realizing the earthy aroma was from this, this concoction brewing up fine in the pot, but it was savory, meaty, roaming around with flavors he didn’t think he’d ever encountered. He reached for the lid to peek inside when there was the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. Kraglin held up his blade again and spun around to see the kid waiting in the doorway. 

“Oh,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against one of the prep tables. “So you’re pulling knives on us now? I mean, that’s cool and all.” The kid grabbed for something from under the table. He came up holding a cleaver, and flashed the metal surface in the light before setting it down next to him. “So we’re even.” 

Kraglin just crinkled his brow. Even? The kid thought they were _even_? Yeah, no. Neat weapon, but Kraglin had speed and age and strength tenfold over this youngling. He could carve them up into neat little packaged cubes, bone and all, and bring it back for Oblo to serve at the next meal. “Even.” Kraglin almost smiled; he had a little twitch to show at the corner of his mouth as he lowered his knife. 

“You look terrible, by the way,” said the kid.  

“I d—” 

“I mean, whatever, but I guess it’s cool that you’re out of the rain and everything. You keep your spy gear dry? Made all your calls back over to the Motherland?” Kraglin stiffened, snubbing his nose before he gently clasped his hand behind his back, covering the comm link on his wrist. 

“Uh-huh.”

The kid eyed Kraglin up and down. Whatever. He’d been assessed by worse. The kid shrugged and went around the tables back towards a door Kraglin hadn’t noticed before. He popped it open with a hard yank and walked inside the dark room without another word. Kraglin wondered if he was supposed to follow. Or if he was supposed to just stay? Or if he should check out what was boiling in the pot.

He reached for the lid anyways, because he was already there and if secret passages or goin’ into dark closets and all that were the usual mode of transportation on Terran, better not show he was unsettled by it. Not that it was the weirdest thing he’d seen; you get an audience with somebody like The Collector, you’ve seen it all. Kraglin just went for the lid, his hand hovering over it when the old woman came back like lightning and slapped his hand.

“Ah,” she said over his croak of displeasure. “You wait ‘till that one’s done, rybka. Are you hungry?” Before Kraglin could answer that he was, indeed, _starving_ and that he would very much like anything offered, the woman produced a large ceramic bowl and a ladle. She carefully removed one of the lids to one of the other large pots and scooped out the contents inside, a warm translucent broth with huge spongy grain balls drowning amongst homemade noodles. “Is not much, but you are just skin and bones. How you to grow up big and strong with no meat? Take. Sit. I have fresh rolls soon and you can have that with your soup.”

“Soup?” Kraglin asked, spilling over the vowels in the word as he took the bowl. He almost dropped it, since it was hot enough to burn his hands. Not that he didn’t mind a quick burn, just that he was surprised at how easily the old woman handled the heat. She had good, proper kitchen hands. Leather skin. Tough callouses. He smiled awkwardly at her, showing off too many metal teeth.

“Look at that,” she said and came up to him, grabbing his neck to yank him down close to her. Kraglin jerked away and brought up his forearm to fend her off out of a natural violent instinct, but she brushed away his arm and began to poke into his mouth. He didn’t so much as make a peep at that. The woman was harmless. Still had his knife. Still could get it in her skull. She was fine. “You’ve a whole set of metal teeth,” she said, like he should be surprised by this knowledge. “Does it taste like licking a tin can?”

“Mmuh nuhuh,” he answered, trying again to pull back, but not really using all of his weight this time. In truth, he was letting her do all of this so he didn’t have to give up his “soup” ration, which he was very much looking forward to.

“There was a time they would _take_ those from your mouth,” she said simply, carefully pulling his mouth open more to look at the rest of his fillings. “This is good. You have many I see.” She stopped poking his teeth as abruptly and waved him back towards the table. “Eat,” she said and set down a bundle of clothes next to him. “You can wear these, I think. They belong to Uillamina’s grandfather. Both of you so tall men, so this is fine.”

Kraglin reached for the clothes, but the woman just touched his wrist and put a spoon in his hand. “Eat,” she said softly.

“But. Don’t I gotta…?”

“Eat.”

There was no use arguing twice.

Kraglin scooped up mostly broth, a noodle flopping like a greasy grublin and plopping back into the soup. He sniffed it, waiting to see if there might be any dangerous smells, poison, cilantro, what have you. But when it was nothing and when the woman cleared her throat at him, judging him, he put it in his mouth and swallowed.

It was like.

It was like….

Kraglin put the bowl on one of the metal tables so he could keep it still. No use sliding ‘round or burning his palms anymore. He held onto the edge of the bowl, his face tipped down close to it as he shoveled soup into his mouth. He was making little humming noises as he slurped up the noodles and grinned when he bit into the matzo ball. While words were well beyond him at the moment, his face showed just how much he enjoyed it.

The bowl was empty in a moment. He stretched up, eyes closed, practically licking his lips. The only sadness was that he should have slowed down so he could enjoy it more, but that was a trifling sadness, really. He smiled and stepped out of the way when the old woman came to take his bowl. He figured she’d put it away for tomorrow, but watched her take off the lid again and ladle out another healthy serving. Well, maybe she was so poor she only had the one bowl and had been kind enough to let him eat first. But then she brought it back over to him, patted his arm, and gave a little head nod.

“Eat,” she said simply.

“But. But I. I ssstill.”

“Eat.”

Kraglin polished off another bowl easily, so happy he could almost honestly cry, if he weren’t the sort that had given up on that crying nonsense. Weren’t a man with all them soft accoutrements that decorated someone who would be moved to tears over something as simple as food. No sir. Seven hells it was good though. He leaned back, hand over his stomach, absolutely content. He sighed and nearly squawked when the old woman went to give him a third helping. He waved his hands at her. He didn’t want to have to owe her any more, it was too much. He started throwing out choppy “thank yous” and guttural “I couldn’t,” when the door popped open and the little kid came out with a bag, shoveling something into his mouth. He paused when he saw Kraglin and the old woman, crunching slowly.

“Billy,” the woman said darkly, putting her knobby hands on her hips.

“Buffa cusomos arredy haf—”

“Uillamina!”

The kid swallowed, scrunching their nose at the name. He looked like he’d been hit, but then he put the bag labeled “Lays Originals” down on the table and trained his eyes to the floor. “Sorry, Nana.”

“You know why I’m mad?” she asked quietly, not bending or softening an inch.

“Because I ate the chips, Nana,” the kid answered.

Nana just nodded curtly before she opened her arms up. “Come, my little pteechka. Come give Nana a hug.”

Billy sighed but came over anyways, wrapping his arms up around his grandmother as tightly as he could. They embraced and for longer than a blink, so, that was something to see. Kraglin studied them and their odd little patterns, sniffling once before he realized he was making a sound.

“Er, a,” he managed.

“You. You fed, you full? Now you have time to get dressed now. Get warm, rybka.” Nana shooed him, nodding at the little pile of clothes she had offered. Kraglin scooped them up off the metal table and turned around a few times, looking for a place to change away from these two. “Hurry. Change,” the older woman said impatiently. Kraglin started to move towards the door where the kid had gotten his chips from when the older woman asked, “What are you doing? Change!”

“But…but….”

Look. The fact of the matter is, there ain’t really nothing shapin’ up to resemble actual, honest to goodness privacy aboard the Eclector. Most nights they trade their shifts and pass out where they need, but a drunken pile of Ravager bodies does a good nest make. They had cabins piled up with bodies cause there ain’t no way to give everybody their own room. And, yes, there had been a few special occasions sneakin’ off towards Yondu’s quarters got him some “alone” time, he weren’t even alone when he was there, since captain was with him. Kraglin had no worries bein’ stripped in front o’ nobody.

Except now.

“Uh,” he started again, but Nana and Billy just shrugged and motioned towards the dry clothes, like it was an obvious thing. He shrugged and worked off his shirt, futzing with the collar more than he should have. It had dried some in the warm kitchen, but he was still soaked head to toe, and so he had to fight with the fabric, peeling it clean off him. What he wouldn’t give for proper Ravager jumpsuit with the easy buckles and zipper. Up down, in and out, done. He groused to himself, keeping his head tucked down so they couldn’t understand him, not that either of ‘em spoke Xandarian anyhow.

“Whoa!” Billy cried out once Kraglin had his shirt finally off over his head. “Are those real?”

For a second, Kraglin was afraid he’d sprouted gills or he were bleeding from somewhere he couldn’t even feel anymore. Did Terrans bleed blue too? Some of them bled orange up on the ship. Or others bled black. Or that one guy who bled rocks. Everybody were different and he knew one thing from Yondu in that you can’t be too different here on Terran. He looked down at his nearly caved in chest, his gangly torso, and the tattoos that went from his neck to his ribs. They were little things, honestly, little reminders of people who weren’t ‘round no more. Had plans to get more, and honestly the only ones what anybody could see most days were that three there on his neck. He covered them with his arm, afraid that tattoos might not be a popular thing here on Terran and he might be in trouble for having any same as he would for having blue blood or three livers or his traxlaxial glands.

“Yeah,” Kraglin answered, hugging his arm over his chest. “Plenty real.”

“Leave him alone,” said Nana, cuffing Billy on the ear. “Hurry up and change, rybka. I can go wash your clothes in next load when you give them to me.” She flapped her hand at him, waiting for him to hand over his Terran uniform. He stripped the rest of the way, tripping on his ugly Terran boots again, which he cursed low and mean like before he stepped out of them.

The new Terran clothes were a bit stiff and smelled slightly moldy. Like they’d been sitting alone too long. She slipped into the pale blue polo shirt well enough, the collar popped up to cover his neck. The slacks were a little baggy and a little short, but they did the trick. He scrubbed at his hair again and looked up, hoping he’d done it alright.

“That’s a respectable boy there,” said Nana, offering Kraglin a small, private smile. He got the impression she didn’t dole those out as often and he grinned back, wary but at least happy. “I take your clothes now and get the wash started. Billy!”

“Yes, Nana?” the kid asked dutifully, stepping up round the table.

“Go see to our customers.”

“What customers?” he said, clicking his tongue before he turned around and marched towards another set of doors. “I got it, Nana, I got it.”

“That one,” said Nana, shaking her head. “Keeps busy, that one. You keep busy too. Go. Watch out front and don’t get in anybody’s way. I come for you if I need something.”

There it was. Pressed into service. Well, she’d fed and clothed him; it was the best he could do to pay her back. And, maybe he’d get more spread on the DNA scanner to find their missing child. If he could go back to Yondu with a win, that’d always be preferable. He nodded and bowed his head, giving her a Ravager salute before he paused, looked down at his fist, and awkwardly went through the doors after Billy.

Nana said nothing about the salute, thank the stars.


	2. Nana Shooed Him Right On Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see a little more of the diner and lo, what is this? Quill is going to be stopping by later? Oho. Aha. That just might be the ticket Kraglin's looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was discussing this on the discord about how Obfonteri sounds just enough like an earth surname that Kraglin could end up stealing it from these people. So he's gonna go ahead and do that, thank you very much. That's a nice name you got there. Would be a shame if someone were to...adopt it.
> 
> Also, I'm bumping in another chapter because, uh, I can? But also because this is moving slower than I imagined and we need to fill in some gaps before we just shove Peter out of a hospital and into a Ravager tractor beam, obviously.

When Kraglin slipped out into the diner, he spotted Billy over at a table with three grown men in various plaid patterns, one in a bright orange vest and the other two with boxy hats smashed onto their heads. They had differing levels of beards, and the two in the hats looked similar enough that it was easy to assume they were related. They were laughing and Billy, with a cream-colored apron wrapped around their waist, was scribblin’ notes to himself as they talked.

“Watch out, though,” said one man, elbowing the kid playfully. “Cornswallow’s come in for her daily dose.”

Billy scrunched his face up into a mean scowl, near stabbing his little writing instrument into a long green pad of paper.

“I don’t get it. Why’s she come in here anyhow? She can go to Joe’s.”

“She wants t’ save yer soul,” said another man, wiggling his fingers playfully at Billy.

“She can stuff it.” He flipped the pad of paper over and nodded at their cups. “More coffee?”

“More coffee,” they chimed back, and Billy turned on a heal, spotting Kraglin waiting by the kitchen doors. “Hey.” He jerked his head, motioning him over. “Don’t stay there or you’ll get clocked. C’mere.”

Kraglin motioned at himself and Billy stomped over quickly, grabbing his wrist before he could move out of their way. Billy pulled, dragging him over to a station with pots of coffee brewing, one with an orange spout top and the other brown. Billy dipped under the counter with the coffee brew—Kraglin sniffed it and thought it smelled deceptively similar to the caff they had on the ship—and came up with another half-apron. He started to tie it around Kraglin’s waist without asking, doubling the strings around his skinny hips and tying it with a quick tug at the small of his back.

“There. Gotta have the uniform.” Billy looked up the length of Kraglin with an angry pout. “Wash your hands.”

“Muh…?”

“Yeah. Your hands. Jesus, this guy is thick as molasses.”

Billy pushed Kraglin to the side of the brewing station, over to a deep basin filled with dishes that should go back into the kitchen to be washed. He turned the faucet on and moved Kraglin’s hands under the stream, pumping soap from a little dispensary nearby and started scrubbing Kraglin’s hands for himself like he was an invalid.

“…x, y, and z. There. Dry off and then follow me.” Billy flicked his wet hands into the basin and snagged a towel nearby, drying his hands quickly before he tossed it up at Kraglin. “Nana told you to come out here, right?”

“Mm,” Kraglin answered with a short nod.

“Yeah, so she wants you to help. But, like, clearly you can’t even help yourself. So, guess what, buster? You’re assisting _me_. And if you’re assisting, you’re gonna do it right, right?”

Kraglin sniffed, running his tongue across the back of his teeth. Taking orders from a youngling was furthest from his list of ideal situations, but he figured he didn’t have any choice. He needed to get a spread on the DNA scanner and he owed Nana. Food. Clothes. Coming in outta the rain.

“...right,” he answered at last, which seemed satisfactory to the little bastard.

“Right. So, first thing first, don’t stand in front of that door. Nana doesn’t have a window in front of it and if she’s coming through with food, you’re getting knocked flat on your butt. On your flat butt.” Billy laughed, tapping the pen on his pad of paper. “Also. I’d totally have you bus tables, but, like, you clearly don’t know squat. C’mon, my little baby bird.”

“I’m…I—”

“Yep.” Billy took Kraglin’s wrist again and yanked him out of the little corner, grabbing up one of the coffee pots with the orange top as they went. He led them back to the table with the three hunters, flapping his small chubby child hand for their mugs. “C’mon. Over here. I’m not reaching across, Mr. Davidson, c’mon.”

The men chuckled as they pushed simple ceramic mugs over towards Billy’s end of the table. He filled them as Kraglin watched.

“Yeah, and who’s your friend here?” asked the one in the orange vest, Mr. Davidson.

“He’s a commie spy Nana brought in before he died in the dumpster and he’s my assistant now, so I’m gonna make him ship shape or whatever.”

“Commie spy, huh?” asked the other hunter, the one in the green and brown hat. They all chuckled between them, looking Kraglin up and down. “Yeah, he’s got that look about him, don’t he?”

“Yep,” said Billy.

“Where you really from, boy?” asked Mr. Davidson.

Kraglin raised his eyebrows, fumbling for an answer he didn’t have. He pointed at the ceiling before he tipped his hand down, jabbing a finger again in the direction of the woods. “I. Uh. I.”

“Like I _said_ ,” Billy interjected, finishing up with their coffees and gently pushing them back across the table as far as his short arm could reach. “He’s a commie spy and he barely speaks English. He’s so bad at it. Just pretend he’s mute. I’ve already started to.”

They laughed with Billy. Kraglin didn’t think it was that funny, and he sighed to himself, chewing the inside of his cheek delicately with those metal teeth of his. He had plenty of practice chewing just right, since there was a second row stuck up in his gums, sharp as needles. He could force ‘em out in a right dirty fight, if he had to. These idiots just didn’t know it.

“A mute, huh? Nana really knows how to pick ‘em,” said one of the hunters.

“ _I_ picked him,” Billy said, puffing up their chest. “That’s why I’m working so hard to make him upstanding and all, y’know? I think I got this all figured out.”

Kraglin rolled his eyes, looking to the floor when the men laughed again. He wanted to check his comm link and see if anything had come up on the DNA scanner, but that was stupid to do in front of these people, even if they were busy making fun of him. Let them.

“Anyways, she’s getting the rolls done and I’ll bring them out. You guys want anything else or what?”

“Or what,” said Mr. Davidson. “Listen, kid, you mouth off like that, how am I s’posed to just leave you a tip?”

“Oh, don’t start with that crap,” said Billy, cocking their hip towards the table. “I’m gonna hear the same spiel from Cornswallow.”

They each lowered their voices and looked across the diner to a woman sitting near the front window. She was reading a small leather-bound book, small oval glasses perched just so on her nose, hair done up and wrapped in a green scarf, sharp pearly nails tapping the tabletop in a slow metronome.

“I wish Jess was here,” Billy said miserably.

“Yeah, where is she?”

Billy shrugged. He looked up Kraglin, who shrugged. The men shrugged. Ain’t nobody had an answer for the missing Jess.

“Alright. Let me go get an earful and then I’ll bring out your food, alright?”

“Alright,” the men answered.

They were each taking their cheap mugs and adding white cream and dashes of sugar to it. Just like caff back on the ship, then, though Captain always sweetened his with that klagaar junk, with just enough alcohol to strip paint off a standard set m-ship. He missed Captain. Kraglin sighed to himself, a long breathy note through that big ol’ nose of his before he noticed Billy marching off to the woman at the front of the diner.

“Hey, Mrs. Cornswallow, so I figu—”

“It’s ‘hello,’ Miss Obfonteri,” said the old woman without looking up from her book, her nails click-clacking steady on the counter. She finished whatever part she was reading and looked down the long length of her nose at the kid coming up to her. “For starters. Try again.”

Billy’s head hung low, shoulders perked up to two tiny ears as he fought to keep his temper down. Kraglin stood behind them, gangly limbs hanging loose and non-threatening.

“Hello, Mrs. Cornswallow,” Billy said through clenched teeth.

“And…?” the old woman asked, rolling her hand to coax something out of the kid.

“And….” Billy wrapped his arms up tight behind his back, leaving out a middle finger the woman couldn’t see. He took a deep breath, forcing his shoulders down. “And how _are_ you, Mrs. Cornswallow?”

“Better,” said the old woman, taking her reading glasses off and folding them neatly atop her open book. She sat up, lacing her long, knobby hands just so in front of her. Everything she did appeared to be the “just so” sorta staging. “I’m fine now that the weather is clearing up. We missed you and your mother at Church this last Sunday.”

“Oh, you missed lil’ ol’ me?” Billy was holding his arms so tightly that his fingernails turned white and then a blossoming red. “I sure do like that you thought so much about us, Mrs. Cornswallow.”

“Don’t be cute, girl. You know I don’t enjoy it.”

“I ain’t ever been a cute girl in my life,” Billy shot back before he tipped his head down again. “Ma’am. So, uh, was it the tea today, or the coffee?”

“’Ain’t’ is not a word.”

“And I ain’t ever said it was,” Billy said back, polite as can be. The younglin dipped their head, stood tall, enunciated their words, the whole rigmarole, and this old crow wasn’t giving a damn inch of her life to it. Kraglin had to smile. “We have a special on—”

“Coffee,” Mrs. Cornswallow answered, turning her sharp nose up. “Two pats of butter. Dry toast. White. With the beef barley soup.”

“Right away, ma’am,” Billy said, untwisting his arms and bowing low as he scooted away from the table. Kraglin snorted a laugh at his antics only to get the attention of the old woman.

“Oh? And who do you think _you_ are?” she asked, pushing her gaze up to him as she still managed to look down the length of her nose. Kraglin pointed a hand at himself and Mrs. Cornswallow nodded. “Yes, of course you, you simpleton.”

“Oh, hey, so, no?” Billy asked, stepping back up to stand between Mrs. Conrswallow and Kraglin. “No. Look, I get to call him stupid, but not you, okay?”

“I beg your pardon, miss—”

“No, okay? Just no. Look, just cause he can’t talk or anything doesn’t mean you get to berate him. You get to berate me, cause I’m a nice person like that. Cause I gotta be, since you control the rent around here.” The old woman sputtered another remark, but Billy just held up their hand to stop her. “Oh, yeah, no. I know. Don’t think it was that hard to figure it out, neither.”

“ _Children_ should not be privy to—”

“A lot of things, I imagine,” Billy interjected. “But that’s okay, because I am. You have to leave this one alone. He’s not your problem. He’s my problem. C’mon. We mustn’t keep the customers waiting.” Billy said this in a simpering voice, pinching his hand daintily up by his face before he turned and scowled up at Kraglin. “Go,” he mouthed, shooing him back on towards the kitchen. What was he going to do but follow him through the swinging doors anyhow?

Once they were back in the kitchen, Billy’s shoulders sagged and he let out a long, breathy groan of frustration.

“Orders?” Nana asked near her stove, holding out a hand blindly behind her while she cooked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy answered, tearing off two sheets and handing them over. “Where’s Jess?”

“Coming late,” Nana answered.

“How late?” Billy asked with a pout.

“Late.”

“Yeah but how—”

“Late. You ask like I have spy glass trained on her. She’s late. She called from hospital.”

“The hospital?” Billy perked up, his mood changing quick. “Is she okay?”

“Jess is fine. Jess is always fine,” Nana said, waving off Billy’s concerns as she quickly pulled out a tray of freshly baked rolls. “You never need worry about Jess.”

“I mean, I can worry. I can worry if I want,” Billy said, but he seemed to calm down when Nana revealed that for whatever reason this Jess person was running late, it wasn’t because she was in any trouble. Not any that Kraglin could tell anyways. “I worry about him, don’t I?” Billy made a vague gesture over towards Kraglin before he took some of the bread rolls and placed them in a small basket. “Yeah, you, bean pole. I got yer back. I mean, sure, I still think you’re no help, but, like, Mrs. Cornswallow doesn’t get to say what I say to you, got it? That’s not fair.”

“Lorna’s out there?” Nana asked, not pausing an inch as she got food around. “Okay. We wait for Jess to come.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. Like, I have Mr. Davidson out there too to take care of. Like. I’m not gonna—”

“We wait,” Nana said again.

She always seemed to have a way about her, where she could just repeat the same statement and made it stick. Kraglin admired the hell out of it. Thought he saw something of his captain in her assured demeanor, though Nana had some kinda grace about her that Yondu lacked. Well, one had grace. The other had swagger. Both could club you over the head without a second thought, of that Kraglin was almost certain.

“Nana, c’mon,” Billy said quietly, but wasn’t actually fighting with her. He finished getting the food around instead, setting things on trays as Nana pushed herself out of the kitchen to tend to the front. It was hard to do, cooking, hosting, waiting on people. It was a small space, but it took a lot of trust to leave the front unattended like that. Ravagers woulda taken the time to simply rob them blind. Maybe torch the place if they felt like it. Sometimes that was fun. Then again, Nana didn’t seem like the kind ya dine and torch to the ground, so. Maybe they’d leave her alone.

Billy tugged out a little stool next to the big stove and flat grill, sighing as he tended to the food. He checked the big steel pots before he went over to the flat grill and started buttering it up, slapping bread down atop it and various meats sizzling nearby. It smelled amazing, honestly. Kraglin nearly licked his chops, even though he was full up on that soup from earlier.

A woman suddenly barged in through the back door, busy tying up long, silky-looking golden hair.

“Lord, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she chimed, her voice moving up and down like a song. “Hey, where’s Nana?”

“Up front,” Billy said without looking up from the food.

“And why’s that?” the woman asked, coming over to kiss his cheek while she tied a clean white apron around her waist, covering dangerously short shorts and a creamy button-down shirt. “Ain’t you supposed to be up there taking care of things?”

“’Ain’t’ ain’t a word,” Billy chimed, smiling at both the woman’s touch and his own comment.

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“She already put in her order?”

“Yeah.”

The woman nodded to herself, pushing her tongue against the back of her lips before she looked up and tilted her head at Kraglin’s direction. “We get a new pet?”

“We sure did,” Billy said, finally turning away from the flat grill. “Found him out by the dumpster. He’s a Russian spy. Stray. Whatever.”

“Russian?” the woman crooned, and came over towards him, extending her hand. Kraglin stood up a little taller, wondering if it was a greeting or an attack. No knife. No blaster. He held up his hands to show they were empty too. “How’s it going, stranger. I’m Jess.”

“J…Jess,” Kraglin repeated. Flarkin’ fingle tits, he hated sounding like a damn idiot. She took his hand without asking and pumped it up and down a few times. He looked at their hands together, slowly pulling it back.

“Sure am. And you are?”

“Late,” said Nana, bursting into the kitchen quicker than she left it. She grabbed a wooden spoon off one of the prep counters and waved it in Jess’s face as she came across the kitchen to them. “You go deal with the devil out there or I burn whole place to ground.”

“Whoa, Nana, whoa. Easy.” Jess backed away from the wooden spoon—how in the hell was that even a threat?—and pointed at the swinging door. “I’m going. Don’t worry.”

“Make her like you so she leaves happy,” Nana said, still threatening _something_ with her utensil there.

“I will. Like I said.” Jess laughed and pushed on the door, just enough to open it a crack. “Oh, ‘fore I forget, I was visiting Mere in the hospital today.”

Nana must’ve made a face, an unspoken question, and Jess shook her head ever so slightly. They didn’t look back at Billy, who was watching them with all the wild-eyed wonder of a kid who knew too much and knew when to keep his mouth shut about it.

“I know. But she’s got that boy all cooped up and I know it ain’t her fault, but ya think I can bring him round here next time? Get him outta the house some.”

Nana thought a moment, humming, tapping the wooden spoon against her wrinkly chin. She nodded and Jess winked and blew a kiss back at them before she went out into the diner.

Billy said nothing.

Nana said nothing.

Kraglin couldn’t say anything right, so he stood there, wondering what he was supposed to do.

“Okay, but, Quill? I mean, he’s fine, and I get it, like, his mom’s dying and everything, but—”

“We don’t say ‘dying.’ We don’t know. Science is always happening,” said Nana as she chucked the wooden spoon into a nearby sink.

“Yeah, we don’t say ‘dying’, fine, but, c’mon. I’m, like, I’m not even in the same class. He’s in Wilkinson’s class and he’s always picking fights with the other boys there and, like, I dunno. He’s kinda weird? Like, not bad weird. His mom is nice. Was nice. _Is_ nice, sorry. I just—”

“We will be nice to Peter,” Nana said as a warning. She even looked back at Kraglin and pointed her knuckle at him. “Yes?”

“But, Nana, I—”

“Yes?” she asked again.

Billy sighed. There ain’t no way he was gonna win a fight with her. Kraglin smiled despite himself, and crossed his arms as he watched them. Terrans sure seemed like a fun sort. Least these two were. He was downright fond of them. But like pets. Like weird, backwater pets. Surely. He covered his comm watch to forget where he had to go and why he was here.

“Yeah,” Billy mumbled, turning to the flat grill to pile together a sandwich. He plated it with some crispy fried bits he pulled from a hot vat nearby, a basket dripping into a deep and dark pit of oil. “We’ll be good.” He jerked a hand towards Kraglin. “C’mon then. I ain’t done with you.”

Jess was waiting on the other side of the door, switching over the coffee pots. She nearly bumped into them, or, more rightly, they nearly bumped into her, but Billy held his sandwich up and out of the way without spilling and Kraglin was pretty good at stopping on a dime. Saved his life more times than not.

“Okay, seriously, though. Who is this guy?” Jess asked, keeping her voice low as she jerked her thumb up at Kraglin.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Billy answered, like it was above his paygrade. Did this youngling have a paygrade? Well that just made him even more miserable, for some reason. A kid getting’ paid and him bein’ free labor. Although, stupid thought. Yep, stupid thought. “He doesn’t talk too good so we figured, y’know, whatever. He’s mine.”

 _Uh, ya don’t own me, kid_ , Kraglin thought, holding his hands together behind his back.

“Makin’ him an honorary Obfonteri, alright?” Billy continued, patting Kraglin’s fuzzy forearm. “Yeah. Right? Although, I mean, whatever, but if you _do_ have, like, a name or something….”

Billy and Jess were looking at him, expecting an answer. Kraglin stood tall, stretching his neck enough that the three little tattoos were peaking over the popped collar of his polo shirt. Jess eyed them and she thought something bad about his character; he could see it plain on her face. So, Kraglin sighed, and tried to shove out an answer.

“Krag...mm…Kraglin,” he said at last, sneering at his own name. Kr’gl’n A’kl’n. Wasn’t a pretty name at all. Got swallowed most of the time and he only changed it when he joined the Ravagers cause that’s what people started calling him. Kraglin. Kraggles. Krags. Probably weren’t even a Terran name. Probably sounded weird and they were gonna start suspectin’ he weren’t like them. Over a stupid flarkin’ name. Seven blue hells, was he sweating? The fuck kinda—

“Sorry, did you say Craig? Craig-Lin?” Jess asked. “That’s really w—”

“Alright, good, fine, Craig or whatever, but this sandwich is getting cold and I still like John and Berry way better than Mrs. Cornswallow, so can we, like, _move_ or something?” He tugged on Kraglin’s arm to get him away from Jess and back over to the hunters’ table. He looked back at her one last, watching her face contort through a myriad of emotions. Was she nervous? Was she disgusted? Was she angry? Suspicious? Maybe this Jess gal thought too much and she should keep her damn eyes to her damn self. Or not. What did he know?

“Come. _On_ ,” Billy said more insistently, and dragged Kraglin away, back to the diner.

This was fine. This was all just fine. He still had time ‘fore Yondu was back. Kraglin sighed, looking out the window at the rolling gray clouds hanging low in the sky. Deep and bruised and angry, just ready to burst again.

 _Go on_ , he thought miserably. _Get outta here so_ I _can get outta here._


	3. Some Call It a Lunch Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch rush wasn’t much of a rush in a sleepy little town like theirs and dinner was just as productive. People came, of course. They left too, and paid their money and ate their food and had conversations with Jess or Billy or sometimes Nana. Another fella came in named Harvey Kellowitz who sat at the little bar at the back of the diner, closest to the kitchen, and spread out a bunch of folders, tallying and muttering to himself. Billy explained without any prompting that he was an accountant for a local mob and he was on thin ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in love with this little family, so I keep adding more and dragging out to when we finally get to meet Peter. I'm sorry that I do that, but, am I really sorry? Am I actually sorry? Do you want me to be?

Lunch rush wasn’t much of a rush in a sleepy little town like theirs and dinner was just as productive. People came, of course. They left too, and paid their money and ate their food and had conversations with Jess or Billy or sometimes Nana. Another fella came in named Harvey Kellowitz who sat at the little bar at the back of the diner, closest to the kitchen, and spread out a bunch of folders, tallying and muttering to himself. Billy explained without any prompting that he was an accountant for a local mob and he was on thin ice.

“ _This_ close to sleepin’ with the fishes.”

“Oh my god, no he’s not,” Jess said, rolling her eyes dramatically as she passed them with a tray for a table of two young women in matching pink outfits. “Not everyone is a spy or a mobster or an undercover agent from Area 51.”

“I mean, some of ‘em are,” Billy retorted.

“No,” said Jess simply.

“Some!”

“Okay. Right.”

The two bickered like litter mates, poking and prodding each other with words and fingers. It came short to actual biting and throwing blows, which was just about as good a way to resolve things as any. Kraglin did that plenty of times with Ravagers, with folks from his youth. One who hits hardest gets to decide how things are. Was why Yondu was captain, wasn’t it? With his arrow and all? With his fists? With his teeth?

“So you scare all my customers away with your fighting?” Nana asked, coming out of the kitchen with her own tray. Kraglin and Billy had taken a post in the last booth, closest to the kitchen, polishing silverware amongst them. Seemed kinda silly to polish the silverware when they were just gonna eat off them again, but it passed the time. Gave Jess plenty of time to come by and snark. And because the two were hunkered over their task, they hadn’t bothered to look up until Nana prompted them, nodding at the diner itself.

There was one couple left over and then, of course, Harvey Kellowitz with his files and figures. It was quiet. It was dark. And Kraglin realized that he was hungry again. Typical. Probably had a Arvolian Tape Worm grinding through his guts. That’s what they used to say, every time he came back to see if he could sneak in another portion for himself. Skinny lil’ Kraglin, eatin’ enough for ten. Nana pushed a plate towards him right as he swept away his stash of knives and folks. The plate was something with fluffy lookin’ starches drenched in a brown liquid, meat, and steamy green things. Veggies. Fine, maybe they were good too. He kinda still wanted that soup from earlier, but this smelled just as good. The meat was overcooked. Well, cooked, period, so that was strange. But he figured it was just as good this way as a can of wriggly grublins were any day of the week.

“How do I keep my doors open when you and Jess make everyone leave?”

“Everybody but the mafia dude,” Billy said wistfully as he took his own plate and started stabbing the meat, bringing a big slab up and forcing it into his mouth.

“Why don’t you cut that?” Jess asked, laughing even if she was apparently mortified by his actions.

“Nuh uh nee oo,” he said around the food.

“You’re gross.”

He was, but that sorta made him endearing. Kraglin laughed to himself. It got Billy’s attention and he looked up, scowling with cheeks puffier than the frame of his face.

“Oo affin’ a ee?”

Course he was. Didn’t need a translator neither for that garbled mess. Kraglin shook his head, a noncommittal gesture as he tore a piece of meat and chewed it thoughtfully.

There was a chime somewhere behind them while they ate in their little corner, enjoying company, enjoying food, enjoying the dark quiet just outside the window like the promise of stars was just something to dream about and not something to hold and be held in. Simple Terrans didn’t even know….

But there was a chime.

There was a cough.

Kraglin was last to notice the extra quiet as Billy quickly dropped his silverware and sat up straighter, chewing as fast as his little mouth and teeth could allow. He turned in the small booth where they had been eating only to see a short, unassuming man with thin silvery hair and a hard, angry mouth. He had a cut about him that reminded Kraglin of a certain Centurian, right down to the aggressive gait and the mean red look in his eyes.

“He’s allowed to eat,” Nana said quickly, coming up to the booth with her wiry stance and a wooden spoon in hand.

The man looked directly at Kraglin and Kraglin looked directly back. Just another Terran, really. Not someone to bow his head to and cower. And, boy, did this stranger not like that. There was a little twitch under his eye and a line of muscle jumping along his jaw, but he moved on.

“I don’t care what you do with them,” the man said in a low, thin voice that struggled to come out loud enough for all of them hear. It was clear he was talking about Kraglin, not as a person, not really. A thing. Fine, he was a thing. Kraglin rested his hand on the knife that Nana had included with his fork and plate of half-eaten food. “Alana said I had to come and get her.”

There was the cusp of a protest. That wooden spoon came up and it was gonna come down with the wrath of an old woman who didn’t give a shit, but Billy quickly got up from the booth, rattling his little treasure trove of silverware and the dish with his dinner on it. He dropped a napkin, picked it up just as quickly, and left it on the booth next to Kraglin.

“Thanks, Nana,” Billy said, kissing her on the cheek before he wheeled about. Kraglin got a peak of big, bold, wet eyes and then those were gone too as Billy ducked his head and ran after the man. Arms crossed. Tail tucked between his legs if he had had one. “Sorry, I didn’t check the time for the bus or nothing.”

The man held out an arm and took Billy with him, not a jerk or a grab or nothing harder than the mean long shadow of silent anger.

“And we will see you tomorrow,” Nana called after their retreating backs. “I get the weekends, yes?”

The man didn’t say anything as they marched through the door and out into the near-empty streets. They waited for that chime of the door to die off and the two people who had left the warmth of that sweet little diner to disappear from sight.

“Who the _hell_ does he think he is?” Jess asked, breaking the spell of their silence.

But Nana didn’t seem to have answers for Jess. Or Kraglin. Or even herself, maybe. He couldn’t read her thoughts any better than most. No, instead, Kraglin grabbed up the napkin and looked after it a moment, feeling the last bit of warmth on the seat next to him where that brazen little younglin was not too long ago.

“Finish up. We aren’t closed yet,” Nana said after a time and grabbed up Billy’s plate, trudging back towards the kitchen.

\---

Terrans wasted a whole damn lotta water on things like washing dishes and washing hands and washing clothes and bodies and apparently all sorts of stuff. Like they was made of water. Not like it didn’t fall from the sky, which it was doing again right outside while they were holed up inside Nana’s Diner, cleaning up after the last person paid their bill and left. Still. The part of Xandar that Kraglin was from weren’t even strictly a desert place, nor were he strictly a desert-type. Just. It was a lotta fuckin’ water.

Kraglin’s hands were tired and purple by the time he was done with the last dish, the last table, the last pass of the mop. So much water. Xandarians swam and drank and did all that shit, but their skin didn’t wrinkle when they were water logged. It was almost like he’d been bruised instead, even if it didn’t really hurt that much. He was sweating to make up for it, damn near leaking a ring around his neck. His stomach was swollen with water, holding it for later. He’d taken a break from washing things to go mop the floors like Nana asked, squeezing onto an old handle until the color drained outta his digits. He followed after Jess and Nana same as he followed after Billy, who he found himself thinking of more and more as time passed. That man didn’t look happy and nobody looked happy he’d come. Made his guts start doing acrobatics and he weren’t even sure he’d be normal about it until sun up and he saw that stupid little kid again. Kraglin was scowling at the floor, wringing out the mop handle.

“You.”

Kraglin jerked his head up to see Nana in the shadows of the empty diner.

“…me,” Kraglin answered at last, standing taller.

“You have place to sleep that isn’t my dumpster?” she asked, undoing the knot to her red-splattered apron. She looked like she’d murdered someone around lunch time and kept on going after it had time to dry. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I.” Kraglin licked his teeth before he slowly closed his eyes and shook his head. “Is. S-sort, uh, cheese. Gah.”

Kraglin scowled and pointed at the forest outside. Stupid mouth weren’t good for shit. He’d meant to say he could just as easy go out to the trees and look around for Yondu’s ship. Well, alright, he wasn’t gonna tell her he was looking for a ship, but camping out in the trees wasn’t so absurd, was it? He bet units on himself that Yondu was lying, that he was still hiding around somewhere close by and just doing this to teach Kraglin a lesson. What lesson? That he was a prideful prick who flapped his gums too much? Well, he hadn’t said so much as a single peep since he’d gone into the diner with Nana and Jess and Billy, so, maybe Yondu had learned to shut up, too. Maybe.

Nana looked out into the drizzle and the dark. She squinted and scowled too. She looked away only to ask softly, “Вы понимаете?”

That little shift again. That little change, so that the words flowed smoothly. That was a language she loved and breathed and knew. That was comfort to her, he could see it clearly.

“Mmhmm,” he answered carefully, watching her with a stern eye. “Under. Understand.”

“Mm.” A nod, pursed lips, facing him head on now. “Но можете ли вы говорить на моем языке?”

Kraglin waffled his hand to answer. “Not. No.” He could hardly speak one language, so who’s to say he could speak the other. And he’d done all that damn practice back on the Eclector by copying sound bites they’d ripped from Terran files. Kraglin could sing along with a few songs and he could recite a few passages, but the second he had to string together words on his own? Failed. He hated it.

Nana chewed her lip a moment before she waved him to follow her. So he did. Obviously. Always.

\---

The bed was small, with a thin scratchy blanket and flowery sheets that smelled like dust and, oddly, white flour. There was no frame and it was about a foot shorter than what Kraglin needed, so his heels would hit the floor, more likely kicking one of the cardboard boxes stacked up in the cramped spare room. Nana handed him a flat pillow with a matching flowery pillow case and another shirt. This one didn’t have a collar.

“Is not much, but better than camping alone in trees.”

Kraglin took the pillow, nodding his thanks. It was the nicest cot he’d had since joining up with the Eclector, which saw him passed out in piles of crew more than an actual bed more times than there were days in a solar week. He smiled, closed mouth, looking at the bed fondly. Nana surprised him by touching Kraglin’s hand and tugging him a little closer.

“You are good boy. Quiet, but good.” She reached up to touch his chin, ignoring the fact that he jerked his head away. “Wherever you are from, if it is true you are running, I hope you understand you don’t have to anymore. My son-in-law has hard hand. My own diner Is not under my control. Many people push and poke and control, but I make my own way. I think you understand this, yes? I make sure my Billy is fed. Taken care of. My Billy knows love. You see?”

Kraglin stood still, eyes skating across her face as she spoke to him. She patted his cheek, once, her stiff thumb casually grazing along the scruff of his chin, before she hummed a short “mm” and turned away. She pushed herself through the maze of boxes.

“I am in other room. Right over there,” she said, pointing at the left wall. “You try anything funny, I’ll serve you tomorrow for the beef barely I think.”

Kraglin smiled fondly, snorting a nearly silent laugh. He crushed the flat pillow to his chest and turned to the cot to lay down.

“Goodnight,” said Nana with her back to him. She waited.

“’Nigh’,” Kraglin answered dutifully when he realized he should find an answer. That was good enough. Or, no, that wasn’t good enough. “Nn…thank. Thanks. For, uh. All o’…uh, this.”

Nana tapped the slightly warped door jamb twice, like the little Ravager salute he’d accidentally done earlier, before she went into the hallway and left him alone.

Soon as he was sure it were just him and that Nana was behind her own closed door, Kraglin damn near collapsed onto the cot and flopped his hands up over his face. Pretending to be a Terran all damn day was exhausting. Keeping up with these people and unable to say squat was wearing on him thin. Kraglin tapped on his comm to open a screen, projecting it above his head.

No messages.

No DNA matches.

No nothing.

Kraglin punched open the comm link to his Captain and waited for a connection. But it kept vibrating that it was trying and nobody wanted to answer, so he shoved open a one-way link to leave for Yondu.

“Cap’n? Please. Ya can’t leave me here fer three days, sir, that ain’t fair. I been lookin’ and I don’t got nothin’ for a Terran. You got more on the ship there to scan anyhow. Can’t you just answer and point me in the right direction? Or are ya just gonna abandon me here t’ die?” Kraglin swallowed hard, squinting at the fuzzy ceiling above him. “You leave me here t’ die, I’ll…I just….” Kraglin quickly swiped the comm screen away and smashed his palms into his eyes. ” _Fuck,_ Yondu _. Please._ ” And he may’ve been water-logged from working, but his throat was cracked and dry as he pleaded to nobody, as his eyes leaked behind his hands, as he fell asleep in the dark.

\---  
Only to wake to a sharp stab of yellow light through his closed eye lids.

Kraglin flinched, covering his head when the light came on. He didn’t have the usual hangover to slow him down, but there was an awful crick in his neck and his limbs were damn near dead weight when he stirred.

“We get up early here,” came the familiar voice from the entryway in the spare room.

Kraglin peeled open gummy eyes and looked for the single window to his right. He stretched, pointing a thumb at the dark.

“Yes, sun is not out yet. Is coming soon, though. We sleep in the dark. We rise in the dark. Is best and only time for baking. Come.” Nana clapped her hands twice and left down the hallway. Kraglin promptly covered his face under the itchy blanket to get more sleep, only for it to be yanked away. She was standing over him now, dressed in a similar starch-stiff dress as she had worn yesterday. Worn on the edges, but lovingly mended over the years.

“I said ‘come.’”

Kraglin groaned out a slur of complaints in Xandarian before he pinched his lip between his teeth and begrudgingly rolled out of the bed.

“There he is. Moves so slow. Is like he died.” Nana was now just making a steady beat, clapping her hands together, egging Kraglin to rise from the bed and kill her himself. He could do it. Easily, probably. Strangle her neck or shove her down the stairs. Something. Instead, he caught a shirt to the face and a pair of pants after it, another set of clothes from one of the boxes stacked up in the room. “Get dressed. I have shower if you want, but then you can’t fall asleep in there on me. We have food to cook. Let’s go.”

<< _Shower_? >> Kraglin asked in Xandarian. << _I ain’t showering and soaking up anymore flarkin’ water, cause yer gonna make me wash some more damn dishes again, I guarantee it. >>_

“What are you grousing there, young man?” Nana asked with a sharp smile. “You curse me, fine, but curse me out here. I want to get the flour wet before we start mixing them. Come.”

“Mm,” Kraglin finally moaned out, dressing on his way out the door.

“You sound like my Billy.”

Nana squeezed Kraglin’s arm as she led him back down the narrow staircase and into the diner below them. But even as he was navigating the stairs, Kraglin perked up at the name, curious as he followed more closely.

“Billy?” he asked through a yawn.

“Oh, look, the dog learned a new trick.”

Kraglin grinned when he came into the hot kitchen only to see his little friend leaning over a counter, his forehead pressed against the metal while he was waiting for them. He didn’t ask how Billy had come back—that there was a red bike stashed near the exit behind him would mean nothing to a man who didn’t understand what a bike was—but was all the more glad to see him.

“Don’t call him a dog,” said Nana, flicking Billy’s head as she passed. He straightened and smashed his hand against the spot where she had touched him, making the ugliest face he could manage. “And why is my porridge so hot? You turn it down before it burns. You see?”

Billy groaned, sliding away with the counter with the greatest effort he could manage as he joined Nana over by the stove. But he gave Kraglin a smile and a wave over his shoulder, jutting his chin out in comradery. So he was back. So they were both back. And it was apparent each of them didn’t think they’d see the other again. He wanted to ask what happened. Who was that man. Why did he take Billy away last night? Why did Nana let him? Would he come again tonight? Did it matter? But that was a lotta words, even if he wasn’t just freshly roused from his sleep, so he let it slight. It was early as void-stained sin, but this was a treat all the same. Kraglin couldn’t help but smile back. He’d try to figure out how to talk to the younglin better later, after food, after waking up, after Jess showed up with her new young friend.


	4. They Said His Name was Peter Quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that kid! Star boy!
> 
> Peter Quill comes to the diner and Kraglin is keeping himself busy by learning place setting. But, look at that! The DNA scanner as found a match. Time to scoop up a skinny little Terran and high tail it outta there.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Man, but what will Billy think?

His mother was Meredith. Mere. That name got tossed around far more, same as this kid going by “Quill,” ‘stead of just “Peter.” He looked like a “Quill.” Like, well, what Kraglin assumed a “Quill” was, which seemed like a bit of a skittish little rodent thing with big eyes and clenched fists.

“Look, and you can go back to the kitchen too, same as any of us,” Jess said, crouched down near the kid with a protective hand on his shoulder. “Bet you can find anything ya like to eat back there, easy as pie. Hey, Nana!” Jess stood up, brushing out her long hair with her fingers. Ran like ribbons of gold. Too glossy, really. Bet it took a lot to maintain and Kraglin scraped at his tuft without thinking. When she carded through her hair, she quickly tied it all back with a little black rubber binding she kept on her wrist. “We got pie this week?”

“We have pie every week,” Nana called out, her voice distant but firm.

“Every week,” Jess said, like she was relaying wonderful news. Like they all couldn’t just hear Nana calling out from the kitchen anyhow. “Bet we got some key lime in there. You like key lime?”

“No key lime. We do apple pie,” Billy answered from a table he was aggressively wiping down. “American apple pie, you should know.”

“’American _as_ apple pie’ is the phrase,” Jess answered. “And I _know_ , I’m just saying. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes as in never.”

“We’ve had key lime here once.”

“Then I was out sick,” Billy said proudly.

“Sick in the head, sure,” Jess teased.

Billy looked up and raised a middle finger. Kraglin didn’t know the gesture per say, but he understood the meaning, the look; a fuck you can be universal if it’s done right. And it was aimed right there at the woman who was coddling this skinny lil’ pup with a red flannel shirt and stained jeans like he were her own.

Where Billy was a chatterbox and a mundy-shit flinger, Quill was quiet. He kept his fists tight down by his side and his eyes were so big, taking in everything with a quiet rage Kraglin could feel burning seven parsecs away. He had himself a split lip and he sniffled a few times, like he was on the verge of crying. Or screaming. Toss up with that one.

Kraglin was following after Billy, laying out forks and knives and the like in an order that had been dictated to him in painfully simple words. He wanted to cuff Billy on the ear just for tone alone, but he was good. This whole place setting thing was, if anything, a basic lesson in Terran etiquette that would be useful to exactly no one back on the Eclector. Still. Oblo might get a kick outta it.

When Peter Quill came in with a backpack pressed to his chest and a little music box dangling from his hip with two cushy orange headphones slapped to his ears, he slipped into the first booth available. He had muttered something to Jess, either a polite thank you or a question on whether or not he was gonna get to go home so he could see his mama. He didn’t look interested in anything or anyone. He didn’t look interesting, period, ‘cept maybe for the split lip. None of them knew it was from fighting other boys his own age, that he’d easily take a black eye to match it. It would’ve been mighty easy to blame someone in the family. That grandfather of his was a big ol’ bull and he was fretting over hospital bills and the like and maybe…. Rumors. All of ‘em. Nothing substantiated by way of word that got filtered in. No, nobody knew anything. They knew a kid was losing his mama. They knew that.

Except Kraglin.

Kraglin didn’t know shit about these people. Not history, not family, nothing that wasn’t muttered quietly either to the boy or between Jess and Billy or Jess and Nana or a customer here or anything. “Gosh, don’t he look thin though.” “He is growing boy. You worry too much.” “Course I’m going to worry.” That sort’ve thing. And Peter Quill just sitting there, just listening to his music? He was scared and quiet and too frail to look at long.

Except Kraglin looked.

Except Kraglin, the idiot, he sussed up something.

That morning, Nana had tossed him another shirt and jeans for his apparent new uniform. He would just as easy wear the same thing as yesterday or, hells, what he’d first showed up in—they was probably dry now anyways and the pants had been fitted better for his long gangly legs. But Nana gave him the shirt and jeans and he supposed that’s just what he had to wear. He’d stepped into ‘em right away.

They were dark jeans. They was an off-white shirt with sleeves that didn’t even go down to his elbows. And that meant that his comm unit was visible on his wrist like any Terran watch. Bulky, but not overly so. Heavy leather straps, bits of dials and buttons, a short display that he could slide up his forearm to get a better view when he needed. The sleeves were an even bigger bother because Kraglin had to stuff his knives down against his thigh to keep ‘em and couldn’t just strap ‘em to his arm like he liked.

Still.

When Peter Quill came in, an alert blinked like an angry little red sprite on his wrist. Kraglin saw it first as a distraction, something to hide before Billy came over and asked what his “spy gear” was telling him and if he was getting called back to the Motherland, whatever the seven hells that all meant. He covered it with his hand behind his back, standing at attention. Could be mistaken for trying to not look too intimidating in front of this kid. Or more intimidating. Kraglin could go for either, honestly. He only relaxed when he flicked the little warning light away, returning to his duties. Laying out silverware. Shadowing Billy. The usual.

But then, gears churning and his brain frying itself. Sparks spitting from his cranium to wake up without proper caff or a soldier pill or any good wink of sleep for him, he realized what that blinker meant.

Kraglin moved away from the table and pushed into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Billy was calling after him. “You haven’t finished with the table settings. Where’re you—”

But Kraglin had already elbowed on through the swinging door while Nana was asking something. Maybe demanding. He tuned them out and followed on through to the alley behind the diner where he dropped next to the dumpster in a crouched position. He had maybe two seconds if someone came through the door after him to hide his comm unit, but he slid it up on his forearm and punched up a holoprojection.

_\--DNA Scan complete. Target: **found**.--_

Kraglin swiped through to the clear display of one Peter Jason Quill, Terran age 8, 119 cm, 48 pounds, 17 dermis abrasions, 2-month healed fractures in left radius and ulna bones, progeny likelihood 99.7% match of Terran woman and Ego the Living Planet.

It was a damn good match. Better than that last kid, the Kemarrian, and _that_ kid was dead as dust. Quill would follow in all his brothers’ and sisters’ footsteps if the Ravagers didn’t collect him and get as far away from Ego’s slippery grip as possible. Kraglin’s heart was beating damn fast, nestled low on the right side of his ribcage.

<<I found him,>> he whispered in Xandarian. Kraglin blinked and swiped up his display for a direct call to Yondu. The screen literally vibrated as it tried to connect, still leaving him with that dead-eyed icon of a Nobody answering to a Nobody. <<Yondu, fer once, ya flarkin’ better—>>

“Craig?”

Kraglin winced like he’d been shot and clapped his comm unit shut. He sprang up from the ground to see Billy coming through the back door.

“I…I—”

“You ran off,” Billy said, jabbing his finger towards Kraglin. “You think you can just run off without setting all the tables.”

Kraglin shrugged and clamped his hands behind his back again. “Be, uh, be. If I. Chess. I only….”

“Stop.” Billy waved Kraglin’s words away and pinched his nose. He didn’t go back in through the door, instead walking _closer_ to Kraglin. He looked run down and old, if just a moment. This kid putting on years like some terrible ailment before he snapped back up to his usual self. The wall of the neighboring building afforded him a place to lean against, same as the red bike nearby. “I mean I get it.”

“Get?”

“Yeah.” Billy crossed his arms, scuffing a well-worn sneaker against the gravelly strip of asphalt that made up the cramped alley. “I dunno, it’s just awkward with Quill in there. We don’t even have the same class or anything! I’m not friends with him!”

“Friends,” Kraglin repeated, relaxing a little as he blindly fumbled with his comm to make sure it was muted. “If not…why—”

“Cause, man, you heard. His mom’s dying.” Billy pushed out his lips and shook his head, still not looking up. “That sucks. Like. That’s gotta be just, like…. That’s grade A baloney.” He looked up for a second, staring firmly at Kraglin. “Bullshit,” he said, his lips a thin angry line. “Who cares, right? It’s _bull_ shit.”

Kraglin kept Billy’s gaze. He nodded, letting the kid push out. Yeah, they were upset and they were tired and Kraglin couldn’t even tell him squat, so, why not be a soundboard, right?

“And, I mean, I don’t even know…I don’t even know what to say to him. Like, he’s not bad or anything. Just. I mean, he lives out with his grandparents and he’s, like, always just going on about music stuff and like his mom and, like, whatever. I mean. Whatever, we’re just not…but it sucks.” He breathed in through his nose, instantly scrunching up his face. “Ugh, this place sucks. The dumpster, Craig? The _dumpster_?”

Kraglin chewed his lip and looked over at the what was exactly that. The dumpster. He shrugged too, making noncommittal noises, wishing beyond hope he could offer Billy something more colloquial than that.

“You’re obsessed with garbage.” Billy unfolded himself and waived at Kraglin to follow. “Don’t be. You’re worth more than that. C’mon. We’re almost done with set up and we can make some eggs before the regulars show up. Like, I like porridge. Kinda. But that was back when the sun wasn’t up yet and I think that’s just….”

Billy trailed off as he returned to the diner, clearly talking to himself. Kraglin motioned that he was about to follow but jerked back, punched in his comm to record another message.

<< _Found him. Got coordinates. Message me back that you received and I’ll meet ya at the rendezvous before pickup. Send_. >>

“…least we don’t have to go to church ‘cause Nana needs the help, but, like, I mean, I don’t even wanna go, y’know? So, like…hey, are you comin’ or what?”

Kraglin had come back in during the tail-end of Billy’s rambling, looking up from his wrist with a distant look.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed out, checking the tie to his apron and nodding at Nana on his way back out to wash his hands. Set silverware. Keep an eye on “Quill.” Get the fuck outta here.

\--

Sundays were a little busier than Saturdays, Kraglin came to find. Something about church and all o’ sudden all these folks in finery flooded the diner at the same time, keeping the place busy all through the morning and well into lunch. Kraglin was dragged along by Billy, silently helping pick up the slack that was usually just Jess. People squaked and yapped and food came flying outta the kitchen and all the while, a little boy was sitting in the corner booth by himself, nibbling on crackers and scribbling with a half-used pencil on a scrap of napkin.

“This was a bad idea,” Jess said after a time, coming back in as Kraglin was hoisting up a tray loaded with flapjacks and sausage and boats of gravy to spare.

“What is bad?” Nana asked near the stove. She dabbed at her hairline with the back of her hand, looking wiry and weary and alive. “Is good. We have nearly all the tables full. We are busy. You don’t come back here and say ‘is bad.’”

“No, I meant, it was a bad idea to bring Quill here on such a busy day,” Jess amended. She slipped on by between Kraglin and the counter to grab a bundle of silverware and a plate of leafy greens piled up on their own. “I thought there’d be time for him and Billy to go out and play or something. Get some fresh air.”

“I don’t want any fresh air,” Billy said with a little snarl.

“Oh, yes you do,” Jess answered, swatting their response away.

“He’s out of his house, yes?” Nana asked, adding more to Kraglin’s tray. It was fine. He could hold it with two hands and cart it a hundred miles if they wanted him to. “He’s with people. His grandfather gets some rest and his mother recoups. This is good for all.”

“Yeah, but he’s just stuck back in that booth lookin’ lonely as a baby bird dropped outta their nest.”

Nana made a loud, “baaah” sound and shooed them all out again. She was not having any of it, it seemed. Kraglin thought it wasn’t a great idea neither. Too many people here, and they was keeping him so busy, he couldn’t run off again to check that captain got his message. He _could_ techinically just go do that but Billy would be on him like flash on a flogwoffle, and he didn’t want to…what? Upset the kid? Why? Cause they were coming to snatch somebody Billy ain’t even like? That, if asked, maybe Kraglin would have to scoop Quill up like yer regular old villain and run outta the little diner with him under his arms like he was truly kidnapping him. Which…he was…but the kid’s mother sounded like she was toast anyhow. That’s how it always was. Ego’s brats didn’t have any mothers left who wanted them, who screamed and cried for them. Just how it was, sleeping with a celestial, he supposed. They got sick. They died. Kids got picked up. They died—and stars how that did eat away at his Captain, didn’t it? Cause a bunch of kids got chewed up by their bastard of a dad? Rule of the cosmos right there.

Why did he care?

“Ya can’t keep day dreaming up there,” Billy said, swatting Kraglin’s forearm and waking him up from his reverie. “You’ll go and trip and spill everything.”

“I…no,” Kraglin answered, hefting the tray up so he could look under it to see Billy still scowling. Looked like they were gonna swat him again, so he jerked his hip to the side, jostling the plates of leafy greens.

“And watch what you do with that!” Billy flapped their hands for him to lower the tray so he could look at the plates. “Makin’ a mess outta all of this. Dude, c’mon. Head in the game, alright?”

“Head in….” Kraglin just huffed and followed. Always followed. That’s what it was. Always.

\---  
“Oh my god,” Billy said, sinking into a booth so low that their chin went below the table.

“You can say that again,” Jess answered, walking by with a half-eaten plate of apple pie—Quill had poked it maybe seven times all through the three and a half hours he’d sat in that corner of his. “Did Helen tip you?”

“Helen tipped me,” Billy answered with a nod.

“Good. Then I don’t have to woop her ass again.” Jess set the half-eaten plate on their table, leaning against the booth to look out at the now nearly dead diner. It was sudden as it was surprising. All them people. All that noise. Then…quiet. Trickling out in pairs and such and leaving them on their lonesome. “I don’t care what she thinks about tipping, it’s just rude if you don’t.”

“Mmhmm.”

“You know what else is rude?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

Billy was drawing a ghost of something on the table in front of him as he eyed the apple pie nearby. Seemed like he was having a big internal battle on whether or not he wanted to finish up the pie himself, like maybe he didn’t want to have to share with Quill. Food was food and to waste it somewhere like in space where resources were finite was damnably foolish. Kraglin sat across from Billy again, wiping down silverware while keeping an eye on the little younglin over in the corner booth. He glanced back down at the plate, over at Brooding Billy, and flicked up a bite without any word.

“Gross,” Billy muttered with a smile.

“Yeah, gross, Craig,” Jess said, rolling her eyes. She thwapped him kindly on the shoulder then stood up, stretching her calves. “No, I was gonna say. Kinda rude to leave poor Quill over there on his own. Go _talk_ to him, ya jerk.”

“I don’t wanna talk to him,” Billy said, pouting again. Pouting was just the same as scowling, but that little whine in their voice made intentions clear.

“Yeah you do,” Jess amended, leaving the plate. “Take your pet if you’re so bashful.”

Kraglin knew that was about him but he wasn’t exactly offended. He got some Terran pie shit outta this and while he chewed on the goopy sweetness, he didn’t really mind. He wanted to go talk to the kid. Not talk, fine, but listen. See how he stood, see how he moved, see how he did anything. They was gonna pick him up soon and take him somewhere far away. Hell, Yondu was thinking a Nova colony out near Berhert might not be too bad. Just remote enough that maybe Ego couldn’t track him none. Nobody on the ship needed to know that, but Kraglin knew the only plan was to grab and run.

“He ain’t a pet,” Billy said, raising a finger. Jess slapped his hand back down to the table. “Oh my _god_ , seriously? Seriously.”

“Seriously,” Jess repeated, tugging him out of the booth. Billy made a show of protest, but he got up, scooting across the vinyl seat with exaggerated flailing and stood up like _see? I did what you asked! Preformed a miracle for you!_ He scoffed loudly and hooked his hand towards Kraglin to follow. “C’mon,” he said lowly, almost a growl.

Kraglin slithered on after him. Did any of them suspect him a predator stalking closer to his prey? He tucked his hands behind his back and clamped long, spindly fingers of his comm band, feeling a-flutter of something tickle his insides. Guilt. Shame. Excitement? Food poisoning. _Ha, if only._

“Hey.” Billy stood at the edge of Quill’s table, arms crossed, torso turned half-away like he meant to keep on walking. “What’re you, uh, what’re you scribbling there?”

Quill immediately balled the napkin in his fist and shoved it into his pocket. “Nothin’,” he muttered, flicking the pen away from himself like it had offended him.

“Alright, nothin’,” Billy said, rolling his eyes too hard that his little head rolled on with it. “Listen, dude, just. Come outside with me.”

Outside? Kraglin looked through the window as soon as Billy said it, watching the steely clouds coming up again like they were the watchful eyes of a Celestial, come to pass judgement. Outside would be so much easier. Outside would be fast and would be without fightin’ nobody but Billy.

Oh, stars, but Billy.

“Outside?” Quill asked, like they were sharing a brain for a moment. Kraglin glanced down at him, wondering if the kid really _was_ a mind reader. “Why? What’s the point?”

“No point except Jess seems to think kids need sunshine and air or something. Load a baloney.”

Quill looked remarkably skeptical, hugging up his backpack to his chest.

“Yeah, alright, but, c’mon. Before it starts raining again. I swear, I’ll have you back in time for your grandpa to pick you up, okay?” Billy grabbed Quill’s arm and yanked, almost getting him out of the seat. But Quill glared daggers and pulled his arm back. Kraglin almost got between them just cause it was so obvious that Quill was about to take a swing at Billy and Billy didn’t have their arms up to protect their face or nothing. “Easy, tiger. Jesus. Look, I know, alright? I’m not going to pretend I don’t. So, like, come outside with us or stay here. Your choice. This place has been loud and gross all morning and there’s a pond over back behind us with frogs.”

That, for whatever reason, interested Quill. He relaxed, putting a foot out on the floor. Frogs. Frogs? Really? Kraglin huffed and shrugged his shoulders like _well, alright then_.

“Yeah?” Billy pumped his fist and took off his apron, tossing it onto the booth. “Alright, Jess, me and Craig and Quill are going outside, like ya asked!”

“You don’t need to take Craig!” Jess called out near the kitchen door. Kraglin froze, mid-untying his apron, looking at nothing in particular as he wondered what Jess was gonna say. He wondered if he had any real loyalty to these people. Did he? A little. Didn’t mean he shouldn’t just tear off his apron and run out the door anyhow, booking it with Quill towards the woods where he’d find Yondu. Still, there was something wriggling unpleasant in his guts.

“Oh like hell I don’t,” Billy muttered. “Craig’s comin’ too. It’s his smoke break!”

Kraglin must’ve made a face and Billy waved that away. “Whatever, dude, just, go with it.”

“Alright,” Jess called absently, changing out the coffee filters. “Just make sure one of ya is back in fifteen, alright?”

“Alright,” Billy yelled back and pulled on Quill’s arm again, leading them out through the glass.

So.

Damn.

Easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof, that was a long pause between chapters. I think I have the end of this figured out so we're almost there. Thanks for sticking with it and, as always, I appreciate all of you.


	5. Bully Frogs and Billy Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go out to hunt for frogs when Kraglin gets another comm from Yondu. Time to move, boys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God DAMNIT I had to finish this! And I did! And I'm sorry it took so long, for anybody that comes and finds this again, bless you.

The two younglins moved at disjointed speeds, stepping away from Nana’s diner like they was opposing magnets. Quill stumbled until he caught his footing and yanked his arm something hard outta Billy’s grab.

“Where’re we _going_?” he asked more insistently.

Kraglin perked. If he had anything like a prehensile ear to twitch, it woulda come flat off his head and swiveled over towards Quill. He tugged at his shirt. Where indeed. Little further out towards the tree line the two were making for and they could just go. Grab and run. Back to the ship. Go.

“I _said_. Jesus, does nobody _listen_ to me?” Billy asked, tromping ahead to lead the pack. “There’s a pond up here with frogs. We’re two red blooded Americans. Frog hunting is what boys _do_.”

“Yeah, but—”

Billy just pointed, walking backwards as he did, his head tilting when he looked up at Kraglin.

“Don’t fall behind, Craig. You Russians can learn a thing or two about American activities and fun. You guys even know how to have fun? I doubt it.”

“You’re…Russian?” Quill asked quietly, looking up at Kraglin, apparently nonplussed at the fact that someone at least tip toeing into Terran adulthood was following along with Billy from the diner. Kraglin struggled for a word before Quill just nodded and jogged ahead to catch up to their little fearless leader.

When they were a good couple feet ahead, Kraglin whipped his comm out and looked at it, his heart skipping mad at a little blinker waiting for him. He scrolled up the message, hardly breathing when he saw Yondu had answered.

_< <Get back to the ship. We gotta lock on the mother. She’s still kicking, so no extraction.>>_

Wait.

…

_What?!_

Kraglin stared at the message again, the timestamp and Yondu’s signature Ravager badge flashing up against it, clear as day. And, yeah, a part of him was relieved he wasn’t the one having to grab Quill there and book it. While he wasn’t exactly _against_ this whole kid thievery, he wasn’t chomping at the bit to kidnap and high tail it. Probably cause he’d been forced to spend time with Billy and Nana and, what was that, huh? That catching any kind of feelings? He had to get the hells off this dumb, backwards, mundy shit flinging, pile of rocks ‘fore he—

There was a yelp ahead that snapped his attention right back up. Kraglin pushed his comm shut and hoofed it up towards the hill the two younglins had disappeared over.

“Get _off_!”

“Or you’ll what, huh?”

“I’ll…hey!”

Another scuffle as Kraglin mounted the hill and looked down on the plain fools who’d gathered over near what was, honestly, a decent sized pond. Ringed with trees just so and big shoots of reedy stalks sticking up, highlighting it in all these pleasing shapes and colors. Real nice, actually. Distractingly so. One could even imagine the thing sparkling with little fire-butt bugs on a hot, damp evening. Water attraction aside, it was the two kids he’d been following that had his attention.

Seemed that it wasn’t just Billy and Quill going out for frog hunting, or whatever it was they were trying to do. There was a group of older kids; bigger, meaner creatures that had Kraglin’s companions surrounded. First thought was, well, that’s just how it was. No time like now for those two kids to toughen up and take care of themselves. But he pushed that thought aside, coming down the hill to meet them. Wouldn’t do anybody any good if Billy got beat to shit. Nana would _kill_ him. Also, Quill was probably important. That whole nonsense.

“You gonna defend your little girlfriend there or what?” one of the older boys asked, sneering in Quill’s face. The group laughed, shoving Quill again until he almost stumbled. The words “Jesus” and “Cancer” and “Freak” were tossed around with overabundance as little Quill got shoved from one boy to the next. Just the herd picking after the smallest, as it were. Happens. Kraglin weren’t looking for Quill, though, like maybe he should have.

Where was Billy?

“You’re a real piece of shit, Jimmy!”

Ah.

Well, thank the stars they weren’t knocked out cold.

Billy was pinned between two of the older kids, his hands trapped behind his back. He was straining hard enough to hurt himself, good for him, but making no leeway. These kids didn’t know how to fight dirty yet. Stomp one in the groin. Bite. Stab. Something!

“Yeah? Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?” the kid with shaggy hair and blue flannel asked, snapping his teeth in Billy’s face. “Nobody ever tell you that girls should stay in the kitchen?”

This was stupid was what it was. Not a fair fight. Not even a dirty fight. Kraglin stomped over the hill and yelled, “Hey!” with the best authority he had.

The kids spun, a group of four, plus Kraglin’s two that he’d been following. Jimmy, the mean shit in the blue flannel, spun around, holding up a fist. He stepped back, showing his hand right off the bat. Kid was scared of anybody bigger than him. And Kraglin might not be much, but he was tall and he was a sight more mean than any of these stupid Terrans knew. He walked closer, cool and calm as that water resting behind them, until the kid with the missing front teeth stomped his foot in and made ripples across the pond.

“Look, mister,” said Jimmy, pulling two of his friends in the way as he grabbed Billy and yanked him back. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

 _Yes you are, ya lying shit_ , Kraglin thought, narrowing his eyes. He lifted his chin and pointed.

“Billy?” he asked, the name snapping out of him like the croak of a bull frog.

“Yeah, Craig,” Billy answered, sounding exasperated. “You gonna let me go, Jimmy, or you just gonna keep walking us out to the water?”

“Shut _up_!” Jimmy hissed, yanking Billy’s arm again.

He cried out a short “ow! Watch it!” as Jimmy faced Kraglin, his shoulders twitching. He was trying too hard to pump himself up. For what? A fight? Stars above, that would be good.

“Jim? Let’s just go, man,” said one of the other kids, slapping Jimmy on the shoulder. “This is stupid.”

“Yeah, Jimmy,” Billy spat, kicking at him with his shins. He yelped, spun, and shoved Billy into the pond water.

Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a punch to the face, and it wasn’t. But it was a catalyst, of sorts, as one of the boys chucked a little slimy frog out of reach and shoved Quill again.

Quill watched the frog tumble off into the grass, unsure if it was hurt or worse or not. His face went from that open, slightly confused, passive stare to a pinched broiling rage. He pulled his arm loose and turned on the nearest idiot, smashing his hand into their guts, their face, their arms, their face, their face, stars above their face. He just kept going, beating him.

“Jesus!” one of the boys yelled, and they went to grab the screaming, spitting, feral Quill off their friend.

Kraglin, for what he was worth, held his stomach and laughed. One of them looked his way, like he was gonna come over and try and hit him for it—see if he tried, wouldn’t that be fun—but Quill was a handful enough that it took all three of them to get him off. One kid landed a decent hit to Quill’s head, enough that he’d have a nice shiner over his eye. Badge of honor, that sort’ve thing.

Jimmy was already making a run for it, leaving his “friend” behind to get the shit kicked outta him by Quill. The boys scattered pretty quickly when Jimmy ran, tearing themselves loose of the little terror. Kraglin stepped up, parting them like a knife in a stream, and thrusted out a hand to Billy with his eyebrow crawling up in a quizzical look.

Billy eyed his hand, then down at themselves, then finally took it and let Kraglin help them up.

“Took you long enough,” they spat out, ringing out their shorts. “You just let them get the jump on us? What the hell! And you! What the hell was—oh.”

Quill was sitting on his knees, crouched down in the grass and wiping quickly at his face. Billy was pointing at him, their hand wavering before they dropped it. Their head tipped back with a long, breathy sigh as they trudged over and crouched down beside him.

“Don’t cry,” they said quietly.

“I’m not,” Quill answered, smashing his little palm into his eye socket.

“Yeah. Well.” They touched his shoulder, even though he flinched out of their reach. “Anyways, thanks for going apeshit on them.”

“I didn’t—”

“Jimmy Keuzelski’s a dick.”

Quill wobbled on an answer, sniffling, before he made a sound that could be mistaken for a laugh. He nodded and looked up again.

“Yeah,” said Quill.

“Yeah,” said Billy.

Kraglin didn’t say anything.

He continued to say nothing as he looked down at his wrist and noticed the blinking light. _Stars and garter belts_. Another damn message from Yondu, most like. He sneered and shoved his hands into his pockets, touching the knife he had tucked away. He chewed up his lip and looked down at the two younglins right in the middle of bonding. Should just cut that right now, since Quill there wasn’t gonna be staying long enough to keep in touch. He licked his teeth and peeked up at the sky, little bits of blue poking through the clouds.

Get back to the ship.

Steal Quill.

Leave.

That’s how it was gonna be, end of story. That’s what was planned and all for ‘em, so, why did he kick the ground and grip the hilt of that knife and fuss? Why fuss? No fussin’!

“Hey! String Bean!” Billy called and snapped their fingers up at him to get his attention. “You gotta take a leak or something? What’s up with you?”

Kraglin huffed as he looked back over to the two of them. Thing was, he was gonna be gone too and no need to be making bonds not worth keeping. Not with Nana. Not with this Obfonteri brat. Nothing. This was a _job_.

“Well?” Billy asked. “You gonna help us hunt for frogs or are you just—”

Kraglin took out the knife and placed it in their hand, looking them hard in the eye.

_< <I don’t got nothing else and I don’t got time to try and fix nothing. I don’t fix nothing ever. I been taking shit apart since I was smaller than you, since I got taken in to the crew. I got work to do and I know you can’t understand any of this, but you’re star-hardened as any of ‘em, kid. So, keep taking what’s yours and carve out your place in the world.>>_

Billy blinked, staring at the knife in their hand. Kraglin patted their arm and looked over at Quill.

_< <See ya soon, kid.>>_

He bit his lip, tilted his head, and tried again. “Be. Uh. Good.”

He smiled. And maybe that wasn’t really a comfort, but it made him feel like he was at least _trying_ to do the right thing. He patted Billy’s arm, stood, and took off running. Fast as his damn legs would carry him.

\--

“The seven blue hells took you so long?”

“Yeah, good to see you too, Cap.”

“Getcher bony ass up in here and let’s _go_.”

Yondu held the hatch open as Kraglin jumped up into the M-Ship, glad to hear it clang shut behind him. Glad to feel the simu-grav pump hold his weight as the ship took off, leaping to atmo and tearing away from that flarkin’ dump of a planet.

“We got the lock on the boy,” said Yondu conversationally, punching up coordinates and slapping Kraglin’s hand away when he tried to take over the controls. He just grinned to himself, his senses flooded with the old familiar smells and sounds and sights.

“I betcha did,” Kraglin said, rolling his eyes anyways. “Cause I _had_ ‘im.”

“Yeah,” Yondu muttered, and sniffed up a nostril. “But his mama’s still around. Kid deserves to say goodbye. We got a read on her going through to Doc. We’ll pick him up when she goes the way she goes.”

“Who’d you have going after her then?” Kraglin asked conversationally as he kicked up a boot and got that slapped down to the ground too. Back to the old and the familiar. Void be damned, he loved it.

“You don’t wanna know,” Yondu grumbled and there was a good damn story there, wasn’t there.

“Who? Oh, don’t tell me. Retch.”

“Not fuckin’ Retch. He’s dumber ‘an two Orloni stitched ass to head.”

“Uh…mm. Can’t be Oblo. Ya wouldn’t send nobody but Xandarians.”

“Cause those Terrans spook too easy!”

“Eh, not so much as you might think,” Kraglin said and leaned on his elbow, the sight of the Tartarus spreading out on their forward view. Could bring tears to a man’s eye if he were a soft and sentimental creature.

“Yeah? And where the seven hells you shack up? You got off my radar during the storm.”

“You fuckin’ _left_ me,” Kraglin shot back.

“I didn’t _leave_ ya, ya belly-aching git. I was hoverin’ the whole damn time. Don’t turn your comm off on me again, boy.”

Kraglin huffed, only for show. He thought of Billy and there was a twitch of a smile. Kid was annoying for sure. But….

“Well. Ya miss it, Kr’gl’n A’kl’n?”

Cap was being sweet on him, callin’ him that. One of the few that could skip through his name without swallowing too much of his own tongue. It was his own way of apologizing for leaving him to his own on his mission. It was overly nice, for him.

“Mm,” Kraglin answered with a little head bob. Cause he did, even if he weren't gonna voice it. Least of all to Yondu, who took strength from others, who took strength from himself. Who wouldn't let none of them be soft cept when they were and Kraglin did his best to keep his shell hard. Made it easier for his captain, anyways. “Don’t miss the food, though. We gotta see if we can’t get a few items together. You ever had soup ‘fore, Cap?”


End file.
